Reason to Believe
by screaming-poetically
Summary: When Hermione learns that George intends to sell the joke shop, she feels an inexplicable urge to stop him. GWHG. Spoilers for DH.


**Title:** Reason to Believe  
**Pairing:** George/Hermione, with mentions of Harry/Ginny.  
**Rating**: FRT.  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for Deathly Hallows.  
**Summary:** When Hermione learns that George intends to sell the joke shop, she feels an inexplicable urge to stop him.  
**Disclaimer:** The names of all characters contained herein are the property of JK Rowling. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.  
**Author's Notes:** Takes place one year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione has taken up at Hogwarts, and George is…well, you can imagine.

**Reason to Believe**

It was not that Hermione resented her life after the war, because she did not, under most circumstances. She loved the fact that she was now a professor at Hogwarts, a place of honor she most certainly would not have been able to gain without the help of Minerva McGonnagal and, regrettably, the death of the former Muggle Studies teacher Charity Burbage. With her love of knowledge, it seemed that becoming a professor was made for Hermione. There were just moments where she thought that maybe, just maybe, she had settled instead of going for what she really wanted. Although, what she really wanted, she had absolutely no clue.

She was happy, she was most certain of it. Ron had gotten in the habit of telling her that if she said she was happy one more time, he wouldn't believe her; she had started to believe he was right. She didn't have as many friends at Hogwarts as she would've liked, although she did get on well with the other professors. She knew that Neville was trying to get the job of Herbology professor since Professor Sprout had expressed interest in retiring; after the war, several of the professors had seemed more weary than before, and it was very understandable. Hermione herself was very weary, more so than anyone her age should be.

The summer holidays were drawing to a close, and Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts two months early to arrange her affairs at the school. To organize lesson plans, her office; to ready the classroom, to reacquaint herself with the halls and fellow teachers who were around. Hermione knew that one of the main reasons that she had taken the job at Hogwarts was because of the many memories that she had there. It was a kind of self-inflicted torture, to walk the halls where so many people she had loved had fallen, who had died to never laugh or talk with her again. The memories she had were her own private regrets, her own way of staying close to them. Fred, who had fallen to a spell cast by Rookwood, Lupin and Tonks, taken down by Dolohov, together at the end. Lavender Brown, who had fallen to Fenrir Greyback.

For some reason, she had found herself missing Fred the most in the past year, his jokes and smiles and easygoing manner. She didn't buy Minerva's explanation that good people were sometimes punished for their flaws (and Fred had died with a smile on his face, laughing at Percy's joke), and that bad people were sometimes not wholly evil, and thus not punished for their actions. Fred, she thought, while obnoxious at times with his constant mischief, had nothing to be punished for. His death had caused a great amount of sorrow, both within his family and without. Mrs. Weasley refused to take the extra chair away from the table; George hadn't been the same since his twin's death, and the shop had lapsed into a state of business loss and darkness with its sole owner in a near constant state of depression and alcoholic stupor.

Hermione sighed as sat down behind her desk. As pointed out by several of her fellow professors, her office was impossibly cluttered, with books and papers scattered about and piled upon chairs. She observed the chaos with a detached eye and knew that before the school year started she'd have to truly organize things, otherwise she'd be lost. She reached for her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ (something she'd had since she first went to she school and a personal favorite) and as she did so an owl found its way through her open window.

The owl was Pigwidgeon, she noted, Ron's owl. The owl was getting on in years, but certainly nothing had changed; it was like Errol in many ways, fluttering about aimlessly and bumping into lights and books, knocking things over. Hermione watched it carefully for a few moments before she grew tired of its antics; she had seen the letter it carried, a think one when compared to Ron's usual scant lines.

Hermione moved out from behind her desk and stood beneath the owl. "_Petrificus totalus!"_ she cried.

Pigwidgeon froze in mid-air and fell quickly toward the floor; Hermione caught the owl as he fell, and after removing the letter from his leg, with a simple wave of her wand, Pigwidgeon was right as rain, and wobbled all over her desk. She frowned as she saw how Ron had hastily scrawled her name on the front. It wasn't as if it was any different from the way he normally wrote, but she really wished that he would put some more effort into being neat. But, she supposed as she took a final glance around her office before she opened the letter, that she should practice what she preached.

_Hermione—_

_I hope this letter finds you well and all that. Mum has me busy trying to figure out Harry and Ginny's wedding plans, so I had to hide up in the attic with my ghoul to write this to you. Honestly, you'd think she thought I was a girl or something. It's alright that she wants me to help, I would anyway because Harry's my best mate and Ginny's my sister—but picking out bows and flowers?_

_George is selling the joke shop. I can't say that some of us didn't see it coming, what with the way he's been in the past year and all, but I just think that it's not the best thing for him. I think he'll regret selling what he and Fred made together. Their dream. After losing Fred, you know, he hasn't been the same, but changing this much; it's not good at all. He's a good bloke, a good brother, but not laughing or joking around… I miss him._

_Anyway, what I wrote you about is that I've met a girl. I actually knocked her over when going to see Dad at the Ministry, see, but she's a Muggle, so I was hoping you could give me advice. She doesn't know anything about our world; so I was thinking that maybe you could write me back and tell me how to handle her. I asked her for her Muggle phone number but I'm still working how to use the phone Dad got from a raid quite a while back, so if you could help with that as well_

_Bugger Mum's coming I've got to run but write soon. I love you take care._

—_Ron_

_P.S. I heard you're taking over as Head of Gryffindor House, is it true? If so, well done._

Hermione folded up the letter with a frown on her face. It was true that Minerva had offered her the position as Head of Gryffindor House; she had yet to decide if she would accept the offer, though. Being a Head of House was a great responsibility, and she already had enough on her plate as just a professor. She was tempted, though; being the Head of her former House was a wonderful opportunity, and she had no doubt that if she took the offer, she'd do well. Hermione did well at nearly everything she undertook, and that was something that everyone knew.

And poor Ron, being bothered to deal with flowers and bows. That, she remembered, was supposed to be her job, and also one of the reasons she had left for Hogwarts early. It wasn't as if she wanted to shirk her duties to her best friend, but she simply couldn't deal with all the happiness around the Burrow that Harry's impending wedding had aroused. It just didn't…feel right. And perhaps she was wrong to feel that way, because she certainly thought that sometimes, and felt guilty about it. But sometimes, Hermione just didn't want to be happy when so many people weren't. When there was still grief and loss abounding from the war. When she still hurt.

And George, selling the shop? That simply wouldn't do. Not at all. Hermione grabbed Pig in one hand and shoved him in a spare owl cage she kept around, just in case. She assured him that she would be back, and promised food upon her return. Before she rushed out of her room, she took her cloak off of the hook by the door and left the office, and she fancied that with the black swirling around her she looked somewhat like Professor Snape. Oh, she missed him and his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her thoughts were so focused on leaving the castle that she collided with the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, in a passage leading to the Great Hall. He let out a small cry just before the witch knocked him to the floor.

"Oh!" said Hermione anxiously, helping him up. "Filius, I didn't see you there. I'm terribly sorry. I'm in quite a hurry you see, something to take care of in Diagon Alley…"

"Hmm," said Flitwick, brushing off his robes. "A hurry, you say? What does a witch such as yourself, who is always over-prepared, need in Diagon Alley?"

Hermione pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes; the effect was quite unsettling, and a worry line appeared on her forehead. She herself didn't know why she was going to Diagon Alley. She had no business telling George what to do with the shop, really. She had never been a close friend with the twins; their personalities had been to opposite, rules and mischief, regulations and mayhem. But she had always liked Fred and George over many of the other Weasley children, even preferring them sometimes to Ron, who was not nearly as easygoing or friendly.

She didn't know why she felt an inexplicable urge to go to Diagon Alley and stop George from selling Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, from selling what Fred and himself had made together. But she did, and she felt that it was up to her to stop him. He and his twin had never listened to her before when it came to anything, really, so why her advice should start mattering now she had no idea. It probably wouldn't.

"I have to see George Weasley," she said at length. "Something's happened."

A measure of alarm crept into Flitwick's voice as he said, "Surely nothing…bad?"

Hermione knew that he was thinking of the war, of the disappearances and the deaths. Over a year ago, when a person said, "Something's happened" you always assumed the worse. People still hadn't gotten used to the fragile peace, the calm that had slowly but surely crept back into their lives.

"No, Filius," she assured him. "Nothing bad has happened. George intends to sell the joke shop, and I intend to stop him. That is all."

Her colleague let out a little squeak of relief. Hermione supposed that out of all her fellow professors, she truly found Flitwick one of the most agreeable. He was also a hero, she remembered, thinking of the way he had taken down Antonin Dolohov after the Death Eater had killed Lupin and Tonks. A sharp pang of grief hit her at the memory of her two friends; she missed them dearly, and it ached to know that their son would never know his parents. Harry had taken it upon himself to help raise the child, although she found it slightly problematic. How could a nineteen-year-old kid know how to raise a child?

She shook her head and addressed her fellow professor. "I must get on, Filius. I wouldn't want to miss George. This is a matter of some urgency, at least to me."

"To all of us, Hermione. The world needs laughter, especially considering the most recent past and the sorrow it has brought us. Good luck, and I shall see you when you return." Flitwick waved her a farewell as he carried on around her towards his quarters; he, too, had lesson plans to organize.

She watched the tiny professor walk around the corner of the passage and then continued onward through the halls of Hogwarts until she reached the large door that lead to the main courtyard, and beyond that, to a road which lead to the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. She hesitated a moment and looked back over her shoulder. She knew that she might not be coming back, although how she knew this she could not be certain; it was just something that she felt deep inside herself, the same way that she had known that, during the war, Ron, Harry and herself would make it out okay. She stepped into the courtyard and traversed it quickly, suddenly eager to make her way down to Hogsmeade and then to Apparate to Diagon Alley.

Hermione wanted to help George as much as she could; she knew how hard it had been for him after the war, and had heard often from Mrs. Weasley how she couldn't get him to open up about Fred. Oh, she just hoped that she wasn't too late.

Hagrid was busy tugging on a piece of rope which, Hermione noted somewhat apprehensively, was tied around the neck of a blast-ended skrewt. Those creatures were one of the things she agreed with Draco Malfoy about; a complete danger to society, and a mistake on the part of Hagrid, not that she'd tell him that, she cared for him too much. At times, she wondered how he managed all the creatures and Grawp, whom she hadn't seen in ages but knew was around the Forbidden Forest.

"Hermione! Where ye be goin' in such a hurry?" he said as she passed him in a near run.

"Diagon Alley," she called over her shoulder. "I must see George. I don't think I shall return." And it was true, thought Hermione; she didn't think she would. While she looked forward to the life she would lead at Hogwarts, the nagging doubts she had of whether she was just settling, whether she could have something more—It was just too much, and she knew that she'd just have to see. Hagrid watched the young witch hurry down the path away from him and shook his head. If there was one thing he'd never understand, it was Hermione Granger. She was a good lass, and impossibly clever, but she was more difficult to understand than the lifestyle of dragons.

The road to Hogsmeade seemed impossibly long, and when she finally reached the village Hermione felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and was again reminded that she had no idea why she was this anxious to stop George from selling Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She had never been proper friends with either him or Fred, never really gotten to know them, and yet she felt as if she were the only one who could convince the twin not to do what she was sure could possibly turn into the biggest mistake of his life. She paused a moment to collect herself, for it simply wouldn't do to show up on George's doorstep out of sorts. He wouldn't take her seriously if she couldn't gather her thoughts. After a few moments, she smoothed her robes, took a deep breath, and Apparated immediately into Diagon Alley—right in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

When he heard the loud crack! of someone Apparating close by, George looked up; he saw that it was only Hermione, only his brother's best mate, his sister's close friend, and went back to what he was doing. He would set up the For Sale sign, he decided, and then go up to his flat and get completely pissed on the few bottles of Firewhisky he had stashed up there. He'd have to get rid of Hermione first, of course, but that shouldn't take long. She had never liked him anyway, he thought with a tinge of regret.

"George Weasley!" she said fiercely. "What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?"

He looked up, startled. He certainly didn't know what her problem was, but then again, she was Hermione, and one could never tell about her. "Selling the shop?"

She slapped George on both sides of the face; the sound reminded her of someone Apparating, and she was shocked to see red marks appear on his cheeks. But then she remembered what she was here to do, and said sternly, "George, for Merlin's sake, pull yourself together man! You are a Weasley twin, and despite the fact that Fred is gone, you will always remain so! Selling Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will not change anything. People need laughs, and jokes, and mischief; there is no one better at that than you. I will not permit you to sell this shop. Now, get back inside or I swear on all that is holy I will hex your bits off."

Although she was shocked at the way she had spoken to George, her own anger, Hermione did not let it show; she gestured for George to go back inside the shop, and when he just stood there glaring at her, she pushed him through through the doorway. As she pushed him back inside the shop, she picked up the "For Sale; Business Premises" sign and hauled that inside as well. She heard George mumble something about pushy women and ear jokes as he pulled from her grip. She closed the door firmly behind them and, after setting down the sign, crossed her arms across her chest and watched the redheaded man in front of her.

"What makes you think that you've got a say in this?" he asked, watching her closely as he leaned against the counter.

"I don't. I didn't think you'd listen to me at all, George." She paused. She didn't want to push him to far, it was just… Oh, she didn't want him to hurt anymore, or to regret anything. "George, you and Fred dreamt this place. You two wanted this since you were young. You made this together. Fred wouldn't want you to sell, you know he wouldn't. He'd want you to be happy, and to keep going. He wouldn't want you to live like this."

She wasn't ready for the flash of anger in George's eyes as he snapped, "And what would you know of what Fred would want, then? You never really bothered to get to know either of us, did you? All you saw was a couple of troublemakers. Now you're telling me what Fred would want, what I know. You can't possibly."

Hermione felt tears spring unwillingly to her eyes. She knew that while George couldn't possibly mean what he said, he was just saying what he felt in the heat of the moment—Merlin, it hurt. And it was true. She had felt that way about the twins, and she had learned over the years that first impressions are more often wrong than right. The twins were more than just pranksters, they were brave and true, and kind, and so many other adjectives than she could think of on a moments notice. She was so busy blinking away tears that she didn't notice George come up in front of her and place his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I just… It's hard, and I can't do it by myself. Fred was always there, you know? It's so hard with him gone; I can't carry on by myself. Everyone just assumes that it'll get better in time, but it just gets worse." His voice sounded so heavy, as if he had resigned himself to a future of dimmed hopes and lost dreams. She couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to hear the formerly ever cheerful and uplifted twin sound so miserable.

She covered his hand with her own as she said firmly, "One day at a time goes both ways, George. If you can't do it by yourself, then I'll help you."

He looked at her curiously. "You'll help me? With what, exactly? Ron told us that you'd gotten a job at Hogwarts as the new Muggle Studies professor, and that McGonnagal had given you the position as Head of Gryffindor House."

"I haven't accepted the position as Head yet, and besides, it's still two months until the school year starts; I'm sure Minerva can find someone to take up Muggle Studies. I'm quite inexperienced, you know. Too young to be a professor—"

George broke Hermione off with a tone of outrage. "Inexperienced? Hermione, you're the brightest witch of your age. You broke records for how high you did on your O.W.L.s, and for what you did in the war…Well, to say you're inexperienced is complete bollocks."

She gave him a watery smile as she wiped the few tears that had managed to escape, away. Today, she thought, had been full of surprises. George had defended her against herself. (She would never have seen that one coming, not in any amount of time.) She had offered to give up her safe life at Hogwarts for an uncertain one with George, something she never would have done before…Well, before the war, if she were honest. The war had changed so many things about her.

She felt George take his hand out from under hers as he said uncertainly, "Well, I suppose…if you're certain, that is, we could give this a try. Not selling the shop, I mean, and you helping around."

Hermione looked at the redheaded man before her and knew that this would be hard for him, running the shop with someone other than Fred, and trying to make it work. Giving up was easier, she knew, but moving on was something he had to try and she would be there for him. She had to.

"I'm certain. I'll have to speak to Minerva about resigning, of course," she said, and as she continued listing off things she would have to do, George watched her. She was quite beautiful, this he had known for a long while; her determination also, and her temper, had become known to him through the years in which she had been a friend with his siblings. He had never suspected, though, the lengths to which she would go for those she considered friend. Her leaving behind all that she knew, offering to help at the shop, it was completely unexpected and it made George wonder what else he didn't know about her. What else he had missed in the years he had spent just seeing her as an insufferable know-it-all.

In any case, he thought, Hermione was here to stay, at least for a little while. Although this future seemed as tenuous as any, George found himself actually looking forward to it—an emotion quite foreign to him, for he had not looked forward to the coming day since the Battle of Hogwarts.

TBC.


End file.
